


dying, two ways

by ardberts



Series: We Were Born Sick [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardberts/pseuds/ardberts
Summary: part 1 prompt: “dammit! everything was just starting to get better then you do this!”part 2 prompt: “run away. that’s what I’m doing.”(prompts from tumblr)





	dying, two ways

**Author's Note:**

> technically, these were written with my deputy, sawyer, in mind but I never mention her name so you are free to imagine your deputy! <3
> 
> also, sorry, no caps. it's a style thing, I know some people hate it. sorryyy!

**part 1:**

he laughs, strident and hollow, not truly seeing humor but needing her to believe otherwise. his smile is unconvincing and weak as it splits the cut in his bottom lip — only one of the parting gifts with which he’s been left. she was just so fucking _generous_ , wasn’t she? and he knew she wasn’t done yet — he knew he was first on her list, she was his test and he had failed. hard. left with more holes — bullet holes, holes in his legacy, holes in his pride, and one, giant hole in his chest that he hadn’t known existed before she wormed her way into it.

“damn it,” he hissed, eyes narrowed up at her piercingly, one hand clutching her upper arm as he leans in, digging the cold barrel of the pistol she has trained on him deeper into his chest — he knows she doesn’t need it, the wounds she’s already inflicted will do their jobs. “everything was just starting to get better, then you do this.”

he sees a softness in her eyes and grits his teeth — _no, damn it!_ he’s desperate and it’s showing — the masks he’s worn, the walls he’s built — she sees through all of it, thinks he’s weak, knows he’s a disappointment.

his vision blurs and his breath begins catching in his throat — could he let it all fall? could he show her who he is? the broken, unfixable, unholy creature she thinks she tried to fix?

“I didn’t do this,” he hears her say — he can barely make out the edges of her face but the tone of her voice, gentle and hushed, almost steadies his heart beat again.

“you did,” she finishes.

_here it is, john_ , something inside his head tells him as the edges of her face grow dark. _the last thing you’ll see. do you tell her?_

no. “you don’t understand,” he manages in anguish. “you don’t believe — you don’t care.”

she opens her mouth to respond — it’s too dark to see her face anymore — he tightens his grip on her arm fiercely to silence her.

“may god have mercy on your soul.”

he lets go.

**part 2**

her fingers are shaking as she kneels down beside him, leftover rain soaking into the knees of her jeans as they hit the ground. he’s breathing but barely, and as her fingers brush the brass key around his neck, he reaches up, clutches her arm, knocks the wind from her chest.

there’s agony in his darkened eyes, not from physical pain — she knows he’s immune to that now. she notes the crease in his brow, hears the shuddering in his lungs, sees through the cracks in his smile — she sees _him_. not the baptist, not even the monster, but the fractured, fragmented pieces of the man he so desperately had tried to hide from her.

she sees it all and she does not feel pity — the icy weight in her chest is not sorrow, but yearning, regret. he’s speaking but all she hears is bullshit. she feels his fingertips dig harder into her skin and she knows he’s noticed.

“shut up,” she whispers in a distant voice not quite her own. there’s a shudder in her lungs now, too.

he doesn’t obey — of course he doesn’t. “soon, there’ll be nothing left of this world — of us. what is there to do?”

“run away,” she says, brow furrowed, jaw set. “that’s what I’m doing.”

her features soften as he laughs, cold but not entirely unfeeling. what life is left in his blue eyes flicker into hers as he manages a weak smile and sighs exhaustedly.

“sure,” he says — it’s sardonic and inevitable. “I’m right behind you.”

his grip on her loosens and she lets him go.


End file.
